27 August 2012

Advice to My Father

What advice could I give you after all? You
who called my mother 'bride'. 'My bride'. Always.
And swirled her around the dance floor of whatever
ballroom you two found. God, how you loved to dance.

You told me after she died (I never told you I thought you
would die first) that you didn't want to live alone and would look
for another although there could be no other, no other bride of 52 years.
I didn't know if you would survive her loss, you who never even made a

sandwich. My mother devoted her life to you, to care of you. Always. And she
told me that was the way of marriage, but had that certain look in her eye that told
me the deeper truth, the one I really held to (I never told you I think she wanted me to
hold onto that deeper truth). So you survived, thrived really, and went off into your next

life. You found another just as devoted to you. How did you do that at 85? Who tells me she
takes care of you. Proud. Tells me this is the way of marriage, but lacks that look in her eye, believes that and holds no deeper truth. God, how you love to dance. Another who
loves to dance and care for you, and devote her life to you (I never told you

I wanted my mother to live, grieved when she died and longed to have
her here longer,to see me know her deeper truth, and her grand-
daughter know her deeper truth, and see her great grands,
and ask about them, about everything they do, know,

learn and want and, well, never mind). You can really
pick them, at any age. I mean that. What advice can
I give such a man? It's just that I miss my mother,
your bride, with a longing that takes my breath

away still. Even as I write this I can't breathe,
I cry for her, and I don't know how to
tell you that, much less give you advice.
I'm not the one to give you advice.
I'm still back there missing her.

This was in response to a post by Chris Galford over at dVerse Poets Pub entitled: Pretzels and Bullfights: Advice to an Old Man and is offered for Open Link Night hosted by Hedgewitch (Joy Ann Jones) one of my favorite poets in our blogosphere.

This is beautiful. I lost my father, but have not lost my mother. I cried bitter tears for him recently. There were things I am glad he never came to know such as that I was shattered by my daughter's death. I'm thankful the one who would have also been shattered was spared that. The one who remained was not a vulnerable.

Blown away by this. The force of it, of your mother, your father. The knowing understanding you bring. We are something, aren't we? We humans. And the second wife does not hold a deeper truth. Here we are living with these variations of consciousness. Your mother is gone. How do we survive these losses? But oh she is not lost in you, though I know you must want her here very badly.

Yes, we are something. Somehow we keep going. There are so many times when I see something my daughter or grands do or who they've become and I say oh Mom would just love that (and them). And I wish for them the joy of a relationship with her. So much was lost in her death. But, no, she's not lost in me.

Beautiful! How fortunate you were to grow up in an atmosphere of such love! And I know that whenever one loses a beloved parent, it always feels too soon. My mother has been gone for 32 years and I still miss her and my heart aches when I think of all she missed by dying at 66. There are three grandchildren who would have delighted her whom she didn't live to see. My parents died of heart attacks four months apart. My father died first, as we always imagined he would, and we were so hoping our mother would have a good life thereafter but it was not to be. I can so understand your feelings of wanting your mother to live and the pain of having to say goodbye far too soon. Perhaps the best we can do is to hold our beloved parents in our hearts and warm memories as a way of keeping them with us.

It's a very hard situation, especially for a child to take (adult child). On the good side, I've heard that it's a sign that the first marriage was very happy - that the person, the survivor, wants to try not to replicate the situation, but to still be married. But it is really difficult for the children - awful. k.

This is a very touching read. My mother was one of my best friends too, there was nothing we could talk about and, she died unexpectedly 2 days before what would have been her 56th birthday. That was in 1989 and I still miss her now, as much as I missed her then. It is so nice for your father to have met someone else and for him to have been able to move on with his life and yet, there is so much in you that is unsettled, hurting deeply and much you wished you had known from your mother too. Try 'talking' to her because, I for one, have had so many instances happen which have let me know she was still close by. It may help in some small way.

The pain of loss - never leaves. I lost my husband in '91. I haven't found another. My children feel the same as this about their dad. They have no advice for me, and rarely even any words. It breaks my heart as does your poem.

Yes,Mary, I thought that was an interesting poem Chris picked...and a cruel but rather just perspective, though I think romantic love is a lot less dependent on the number of years we've spent on this planet than I used to, that's for sure. I do see where this poem is coming from, a deep place of insight and pain, and forgiveness, but also of holding to account. I think that's only fitting. Your last few stanzas teared me up.

wow...some intersting emotions in this...in one sense i am happy he found another...and i imagine it lessens his love for your mother none....i feel your still missing her too....this is heavy....well written....

I think we often see our parents as "one" entity, until one is lost and the other still must 'live' his or her life. It's heard to understand that they are only human, deserving of love, of companionship, and to separate that from the loss that we feel, the grieving in our hearts. My mom died when I was young. She and my dad had known each other since children, and they married after WWII. My dad found another, but she was not his "true" love, and he died nine years later without ever remarrying. Back then I liked to believe it was of a broken heart because no one could take my mom's place, rather than the disease he succumbed to. In hindsight I understand that he deserved more than memories, that he needed that companionship, but 4 decades ago I was still viewing through my own emotions, my grief, not his.

Thanks for sharing this. If this is from your own perspective, I hope you find peace and acceptance in his decision, for it is not meant to be a slight on your mother's memory.

What a powerful write. I sense that you ARE happy for your father, but that you do so very much miss his 'bride,' your mother and wish it would be her that is still around in his/ your / your children's / grandchildren's lives. The loss of a mother is difficult whatever age one is, I think. I love the depth, reflectiveness, honesty of this poem.

I have had this post open on my computer for days now. It is astonishing in its power. It set me thinking about what I would have said, had my father asked my advice. (Someone who really knew his second wife should have warned him, but he wouldn't have listened anyway.) And of course it asks deeper questions. Just wonderful.

Thanks, Nancy. I keep circling around to those deeper questions, sometimes to try new answers, sometimes to hold the question close a little longer. And the whole advice thing- maybe we don't ask before major decisions or listen to advice if we ask, but the effects of those decisions spin out to those around us who are left to acknowledge the effects and sometimes grieve.

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About Me

As an ancestor in training I'm staying active and alert in this my middle decade of old age. In my first decade I retired and moved to Antigua and Italy to have adventures in other cultures. Traveling around the Caribbean and Europe for nine years grew me out of my too- small self and gave me a bigger world view and my place in it. That was quite an education. I'm married to my best friend and main squeeze for 44 years and have a daughter who's saving the rain forest together with her husband. Through her two children's tutelage I'm learning how to grandmother. It's a work in progress demanding fierce love, scoops of creativity as well as considerable fun along the way. I love my life.

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We are needed, that is all we can know. …One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to show up and show your soul….To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these- to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)